


Good Ideas

by Dragonflies_and_Katydids



Series: Off Label [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, Light Bondage, M/M, it was all fluff and then the end got weird, very light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 21:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5801476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonflies_and_Katydids/pseuds/Dragonflies_and_Katydids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fluffy fluff. Zevran drops hints, and Alistair misses them, but fortunately Leliana is there to catch.</p><p>No redeeming nutritional value whatsoever. Takes place three or four weeks before "Shadows."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Ideas

**Author's Note:**

> Almost entirely unedited (and fuck me, it was supposed to be flash fic, what the hell happened?), so if you see something, feel free to point it out.

In retrospect, this might not have been Zevran's best idea ever.

It had certainly seemed like a good one at the time: he's sweaty and dirty from the day's walk, and the pool of water near their camp had practically called out for a swim. They've even stopped early enough that he doesn't have to risk his neck trying to return to camp in the dark, if he chooses to linger. And since the pool of water is near enough to be inviting but far enough for a little privacy, he definitely had plans to linger.

The problem, however, is that the person he wants to linger with is the only one who failed to take his hint about the joys of a cool bath after a long, hot walk. Zevran's attempt at a subtle invitation was ruined by Alistair's complete lack of subtlety.

Because that's the kindest description Zevran can think of for Alistair's "You can go first, I'll keep an eye on things here" said in a voice loud enough to be heard across the entire camp. And once everyone else was aware of the pool, they flocked to it with all the enthusiasm Alistair lacked. As a result, Alistair is back in camp and everyone else is splashing happily in the water, exactly the opposite of the result Zevran had been hoping for.

He tries not to scowl as he sits on a convenient rock and dangles his feet in the water, which really is a perfect contrast to the warmth of the afternoon. The pool is deep enough for swimming, and wide enough that it's only a little crowded even occupied by the entire party.

Well, the entire party less one person.

Zevran lies back across the rock and tries to forget about his earlier plans. If he hadn't hoped for something else, he'd be perfectly content right now: the water is cool on his tired feet and the sun is warm on the rest of him, and when he grows bored with lying around he can have an actual bath, as opposed to a rub-down with a damp cloth. All in all, it has the makings of a good afternoon, and there's always tonight in their tent for other things.

By the time the sun has shifted away from his rock, he's almost done being annoyed with Alistair and the others are mostly done splashing water on each other like children. Morrigan is the only one left in the water when he finally undresses and slips into the pool, the others either on their way back to camp or in the process of dressing. He is still holding out a lingering hope that Alistair will take the hint once the others are back, but he's mostly philosophical about his chances on that particular bet.

As he ducks his head under the water, he almost laughs, imagining Alistair back at camp wondering what's taking him so long, completely oblivious. The last of his annoyance dissipates with that swallowed laugh; he knew what kind of person Alistair was when he decided not to let this thing between them stop at a single afternoon.

Mahariel is watching him when he comes up for air, her expression thoughtful. It's a look he's become quite familiar with over the last few months. At least it's lost its disapproving edge somewhere between this afternoon and a rainy midnight Zevran generally chooses not to think about. Apparently she's decided to forgive him for seducing Alistair with his evil wiles.

Occasionally Zevran likes to imagine her face, were he to tell her what really happened that first afternoon. Not that he would ever actually do it, but the thought makes him smile again, directly at her.

She smiles back--not always a given in the last few months--and turns away when Leliana touches her arm. By the look on Leliana's face, Zevran would give good odds on the two of them "getting lost" on their way back to camp, and he shakes his head. At least someone will take advantage of this early stop, even if it isn't him.

As he's scraping damp strands of hair out of his face, Leliana says something to Morrigan, who immediately begins to wade toward shore. As she bends to pick up her clothes, Leliana looks straight at Zevran and winks, barely more than the shiver of an eyelid. He raises his eyebrows at her and gets a smirk in return, as fleeting as her wink, before she loops her arm through Mahariel's and leads the way back toward camp, Morrigan following.

Leaving Zevran alone, though perhaps not for much longer.

He washes thoroughly but quickly, needing less time than it would take for a walk back to their camp, and he's sprawled out on his rock again by the time Alistair appears from the trees. Even without the sunbeam, it's plenty warm enough, and Zevran is happy to wait, especially now that he has something to wait for. The anticipation is its own pleasure, sometimes.

When Alistair emerges from the trees, he's frowning in mild annoyance, a frown that disappears in a flush as soon as he sees Zevran. He doesn't quite trip over his own feet, but his stride definitely hitches for a moment before he continues forward.

Despite the blush, he's smiling as he sits on the edge of Zevran's rock to pull off his boots. "I was going to complain," he says to Zevran without looking at him.

"Oh?" Zevran says, rolling his head to one side so he can continue to watch Alistair's face.

"Mahariel told me I needed a bath," he says, toeing off one boot and starting on the laces of the other. "And Leliana made that face and said I should get one now. And I thought they were serious."

Zevran grins. "Allow me to give you a bit of advice, my friend."

"Your advice gets me in trouble," Alistair says, but he aims a smile at Zevran from the corner of one eye.

"Oh, but it's always the best sort of trouble," Zevran says, reaching up to toy with the hair at the nape of Alistair's neck. "And in this particular case, my advice will keep you _out_ of trouble. If someone should ever again whisper in your ear and suggest a meeting elsewhere, the proper response is to whisper back, 'Of course.' Please note that I said whisper. Not bellow to the entire camp, 'Oh, you go on without me, I'm fine here.'" He emphasizes the last word by tugging on Alistair's hair. It's short enough to make that difficult, but he manages the best he can.

Alistair swats at his hand in a desultory fashion. "If you're busy whispering, you could whisper something a little less subtle next time."

"Only you would consider someone whispering in your ear to be the least bit subtle." Zevran lets his fingers trail down Alistair's neck, teasing the skin right above the collar of his shirt. "My apologies for not realizing I should simply say, 'fuck me now,' when I want your attention."

The flush is back, turning Alistair's face and neck red, but he's still grinning, and Zevran is feeling warm from more than the stored heat in the rock underneath him. Just desire, of course. Nothing to do with Alistair's smile at all, except that when Alistair is smiling, Zevran's chances of getting fucked are significantly higher than normal.

Watching Alistair take off his shirt is plenty warming, too, the cloth sliding upward to reveal skin stretched taut over heavy muscles, marked by the occasional scar. Zevran watches the hem of the shirt rise and, when Alistair bends his head to pull it all the way off, twists around to bite one of those scars.

Alistair jumps and makes an undignified yelp. "I thought I needed a bath," he says in mock-annoyance.

"You do," Zevran says innocently. He waves a hand in the general direction of the pool. "I believe that I will wait for you here, so do hurry along. I would hate to be forced to entertain myself in your absence."

"Wouldn't that be terrible," Alistair mutters. He turns sideways to lean down for a kiss, only to stop just short of their lips meeting. "Terrible," he repeats.

That's all the warning Zevran gets before he's flying through the air and into the deepest part of the pool. He's laughing when he hits the water, so hard he can't stop even when his head goes under, and he comes up coughing and sputtering. Alistair is standing on the bank looking horrified, and Zevran knows exactly what he's remembering, and he really doesn't want either of them thinking about that night. Not ever, but especially not right now.

So he lunges up to grab Alistair's ankle and pull him in, still wearing his trousers. Alistair shouts in surprise and gets a mouthful of water of his own, but he gets his feet under him quickly and scoops up a handful of water to toss at Zevran.

In revenge, Zevran dives under the surface and knocks his legs out from under him, resulting in a brief wrestling match that ends when they both have to surface for air. Or at least, getting some air was Zevran's plan, but Alistair doesn't let him do more than open his mouth before kissing him, hard and deep.

Since that's really what Zevran wanted all along, he wraps one arm around Alistair's neck and grabs his hair with the other hand, sucking on his tongue with enthusiasm. Alistair is still wearing his trousers, but wet linen doesn’t do much to hide the way his cock is growing hard against Zevran's hip.

Letting the water support some of his weight, he wraps a leg around Alistair's to grind their bodies together, enjoying the way Alistair groans into his mouth. Zevran pulls away enough to ask sweetly, "Am I being too subtle again? I can be more specific, if you would prefer."

With a growl, Alistair pulls him into the air, one hand under his ass and the other in his hair. Zevran wraps both legs around his waist and tries to kiss him again, but Alistair's mouth is already on his throat. The first bite makes him gasp and arch his back, then he gasps again when the hand in his hair stops him from straightening up. Alistair's grip forces him farther backward, his neck stretched taut, and he cups the back of Alistair's head to encourage him to bite harder.

Not that Alistair needs much encouragement there. His teeth have already left one set of marks on Zevran's throat, and he's working on a second now, sucking on the skin until it aches. The hand on Zevran's ass is clenching and unclenching, fingernails digging in hard on each squeeze, and Zevran rocks against him, wanting more.

He groans, perhaps a little louder than he intended, and Alistair winces. "Shhh," he says into Zevran's neck.

"I doubt the others will hear, all the way back at camp."

"Unless someone comes looking for us," Alistair points out.

Privately, Zevran thinks that anyone who comes looking for them at this point deserves whatever they see, but he knows better by now than to say so to Alistair. And besides, he has the perfect solution.

"If you wish to be out of sight," Zevran says, "I can show you a better place."

Alistair bites his shoulder, then releases his hair without putting him down. "Which way?"

"Will you carry me, then?" Zevran asks, deeply amused.

He doesn't need to see Alistair's face to know he's rolling his eyes. "Which way?"

Laughing quietly, Zevran taps Alistair's left shoulder, and he turns obediently in that direction. "You do make an excellent steed," Zevran says, squeezing his legs tighter around Alistair's waist.

"I'll drop you on purpose if you make any jokes about riding me," Alistair mutters, his ears burning red.

This time, Zevran's laugh isn't quiet, and it only delights him more when Alistair smiles against his cheek.

The place he wants isn't far, just a dip in the ground that will hide them from a cursory glance. He'll end up with leaves in uncomfortable places, but it's a price he's willing to pay.

It's also one he forgets about almost immediately, because Alistair's mouth is working its way down his body as soon as Zevran's back touches ground. Alistair is in no hurry, either, taking his time to leave a trail of marks across Zevran's chest and stomach and the insides of his thighs, biting and sucking until each one burns and Zevran is writhing under him.

Alistair kisses the head of his cock, chaste except for where he's putting his mouth, then looks up at Zevran. In that commanding voice that never fails to make Zevran hard, he growls, "Put your hands behind your head, and don't move them until I say."

Zevran flexes his fingers in front of his face. "And if I don't?" he asks slyly.

Alistair grins too widely, showing his teeth. It takes Zevran a moment to understand, but then he chuckles. "Do you really think that an effective threat?"

Rather than answer him directly, Alistair sucks the head of his cock, swirling his tongue over it briefly before setting his teeth against the shaft. The pressure is pleasant at first, exactly as hard as he likes it, but Alistair's teeth slowly press harder, until the pain crosses even Zevran's line.

He tucks his hands behind his head, and Alistair immediately lets go, raising his head to say, "It seems to work well enough."

There's no chance to answer, because his mouth is back on Zevran's cock, and he isn't teasing at all now. His gaze returns constantly to Zevran's face, the way it always does, and Zevran shuts his eyes, the way he always does, because there's too much intense focus in that look. He doesn't want to be studied like that, to let anyone learn him the way he's somehow let Alistair learn him.

He also doesn't want to think about that right now, so he pushes all of it away and concentrates on Alistair's mouth. To anyone looking, this would seem so conventional, and conventional is usually boring in Zevran's world. Except there's an occasional press of teeth to remind him of Alistair's threat, and his hands fist in his own hair, pulling hard.

His breath comes faster as Alistair's lips sink lower, taking a little more of his cock on each stroke, and Zevran arches his back to thrust into Alistair's mouth. A few months ago, Alistair would have choked and gagged at that, but now he only braces his forearms across Zevran's thighs and pins him down without blinking. Zevran arches up against the pressure, knowing he could break free if he wanted to and not interested in doing anything of the sort.

Alistair's mouth goes all the way down on his next stroke, his tongue pressing against the underside of Zevran's cock, and when he comes back up, his teeth scrape lightly the whole way. Zevran gasps and tries to buck again, the pain burning through him with the pleasure. He's so close he can feel it, the heat pooling in his stomach as he fights against Alistair's weight holding him down and tugs at his own hair until his eyes sting, and then Alistair goes all the way down again and Zevran comes with a gasp, shoulders lifting off the ground as his whole body jerks.

He's still dazed when Alistair lies down beside him and buries his face in Zevran's neck, his trousers shoved down just enough to free his cock. Alistair's hand is moving swiftly, hard strokes as he mouths at Zevran's skin and whispers "mine" in a hoarse voice. Zevran starts to reach for him, only to receive a sharp bite.

"I didn't say you could move," Alistair says, and if he has to force the words out between clenched teeth, they still make Zevran's breath catch.

If he's not allowed to move, that leaves him nothing to do except watch Alistair jerk himself off, which is hardly torture, especially with Alistair muttering "mine" and "yes" into his neck. His hips are moving, thrusting into his fist, and Zevran murmurs, "Let me suck you," because he desperately wants to.

Alistair bites him again and spills into his own hand, a few drops spattering on Zevran's stomach. It makes Zevran wish he was still hard, and then Alistair's fingers are pushing against his lips, forcing their way into his mouth still covered in Alistair's spend, and he moans as he sucks them clean.

When he looks up, Alistair is watching him hungrily, and Zevran deliberately maintains eye contact as he licks Alistair's palm.

"Maker," Alistair whispers. His kiss is too hard, his tongue sweeping every inch of Zevran's mouth until neither of them can breathe. When he pulls away, it's only far enough to rest his forehead against Zevran's. "Maker."

Zevran tilts his head for another kiss, one that's not quite so hard. He likes rough better than most, but he also doesn't particularly want to return to camp with a split lip. The others may know that the two of them are more than friends, but there are plenty of other things Zevran isn't interested in sharing with them. Exactly how rough Alistair likes it would be at the top of that list, even if Zevran himself couldn't care less. It matters to Alistair, and so it matters, period.

Drowsy and satisfied, he can even admit to himself why it matters: not because revealing that secret would very likely cost him this relationship, but simply because he doesn't want to see Alistair twisted back into that knot of shame he's mostly untangled by now. He doesn't want to lose the smile Alistair is giving him right now, but more than that, he doesn't want Alistair to lose it.

As soon as he's thought that, he pushes it away, because if he has to look at it straight on, then he has to deny it. Break it apart, because he's a Crow, and he shouldn't care what some Ferelden puppy thinks or feels. If he doesn't acknowledge the thought, then it's safe.

And the easiest way to not think about one thing is to think about something else. "So," he says teasingly. "Perhaps my advice wasn't so bad this time?"

Alistair snorts and sits up, pulling one of Zevran's arms out from behind his head to work the joints and rub at the fingers, as if holding his hair for a little while was so difficult. It feels good, though, so Zevran doesn't point that out, not even when Alistair drops a kiss in the center of his palm before moving on to the other hand.

If he doesn't acknowledge it, then he doesn't have to stop, and right now, he really doesn't want to stop. Even if it might be a good idea.


End file.
